Watching the Horizon
by honest imp
Summary: when everything is said and done, there are just some things we can't let go of. Warning: Slash and Dub-Con. Ranges from fluff to angst.


Disclaimer: I own nothing. I just stole Rowling's sock puppets. They will be put back when I'm finished.

I stand on the highest tower and, bracing my arms on the wall, lean over the edge. The grounds are coming back green and the scorch marks are fading. The trees are growing back, though it will be many years before they are the great forest they once were. The air is silent. It's been a long time since we last had silence. The memories of the screaming and the explosions are so near to us they almost echo in our ears, even now. For some time we thought we had dreamt up the quiet. It's almost ironic that it still exists. The sky is tinted by the sunset, a pastel wash that brings an end to a peaceful day, another peaceful day. It seems that the world is reassuring us that it's over. It's a time for going back to our daily lives. It's a time for celebration, well almost. I'm still waiting to see you come walking over the horizon. The day you come back will be the day it's truly over. But until you do, I'll be watching that horizon.

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Hundreds of miles away, the view is very different. A bitter wind blows through the overgrown trees, swaying their branches. At the foot of a great oak are two grave markers, pale gray-white headstones. The moss is starting to claim them already, sucking at their bases, staining them green. The sky is a stormy gray, overcast, and threatening to pour down at any minute. Draco stands, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his long black coat, the collar upturned. He hunches his shoulders against the wind. This is all he has to offer: A pauper's grave in the middle of a godforsaken wilderness. Some son he was.

He is disgusted and humiliated to have sunken so low. And for what? Because his parents went off on a mad jaunt with a lunatic. Because, even when he betrayed his own family to make crucial contributions to the opposite side, the Ministry still denies all knowledge. And instead of being celebrated like the hero he was, his assets were seized and he was treated as little more than a criminal who just didn't get caught in the net with the others.

All this had happened because he didn't hate the people who raised him. He didn't approve of their decisions and he certainly didn't trust their capacity for rational thought. But he didn't hate them. Why was that so hard to understand? In fact, he would have just stayed out of the whole mess to let everyone make their mistakes. He wouldn't have betrayed them at all, simply out of deference, if he hadn't fallen in love.

That had been one of his less bright moments, a spectacular blot on his otherwise pristine record. In fact, it was about the time that everything had spiraled entirely out of his control. And the one thing that Draco had always had, no matter how bad things got, was control. It had scared him out of his wits and he had no desire to repeat the experiment. So, here he was, visiting his parents' graves, devoid of everything but control.

He stood there a while longer, contemplating the headstones. Seeing them made everything more final and only strengthened his resolve put that mistake behind him. He bowed towards the graves and walked away turning his back on the miserable little grove. He walked a ways and by the time he neared the train station, his mind started to wander back to his brush with love. As he laid his head back against the padded seat, he was already delving deep into his memories. There was no harm in looking back or even remembering some of the brighter moments fondly. He had learned his lesson and no ridiculous memory was going to make him forget it. So, he let the memories wash over and overwhelm him. And the memories, still so vivid, transported him back to a time he was a little more naïve.

6 Months Before the War:

Draco stretched out on the lawn, basking in the warmth of the afternoon sun. His hair formed a halo on the blanket and he was shirtless. His shoulder blades poked out like rudimentary wings among the muscular curves of his back. And in that moment he looked extraordinarily like an angel.

"You're beautiful. You know that?" Harry sighed. Draco turned and smiled at him,

"You say that every day."

"I mean it every day." Draco turned back on his side. Harry leaned on his elbow, admiring the boy before him. Softly, he caressed Draco's arm with the back of his hand. Draco shivered despite the warm day. Then, ever so cautiously, he leaned forward and licked Draco's spine between his shoulder blades, feeling the contrast between muscle and bone. Draco leaned into it at first, but then he spoke up,

"As nice as it feels to have your tongue on my back, you're not ready to give what you're offering. So don't tease." Harry stopped and, feeling hurt, moved away to sit cross-legged on the farthest end of the blanket, resting his back against a tree that was growing there. He made a point of ignoring Draco. "Come on. Don't be like that." Draco moved to sit in front of him. Harry didn't move and pretended not to see him. He leaned back until his head was resting on Harry's chest and rising up and down with his breathing. Harry, unconsciously, began to stoke Draco's forehead, relaxing against his will.

A heartbeat later…."Draco?'

"Hmm," he replied humming happily.

"Whose side are you on? In the war, I mean. You're going to have to choose someday. And I was just wondering." Draco sat bolt upright and turned around.

"Harry, if you know anything about me, you won't force me to make that decision. You might not like the outcome."

Harry face fell and Draco rushed to change the subject, "Let's not think about tomorrow or the war. Let's not think about school or hate or confused loyalties. Today there's just you and me here. No one else."

He cupped Harry's chin in his hand and stared into Harry's eyes as though he would fall through them straight to his soul. He leaned in and softly brushed his lips against Harry's, caressing them with is own ever so lightly like a butterfly landing. And then, it was as if a spark jumped between them. A tingling sensation began to build up until the exquisite torture was almost too much to bear. They began to melt into the kiss, each seeking desperately for more pressure. In their search, they gripped each other shoulders, bruising them in their rush to just hold on to each other, to the moment, to make this last for just another second. Tongues entered the fray, each pushing and testing, stretching the boundaries to see just how far they could go.

Finally they parted to breathe, resting their foreheads together and breathing heavily. Harry dropped his head down to mark Draco's neck with his teeth. Draco arched his head back, allowing him greater purchase. "You have no idea how good that feels."

"Oh, I think I have some," he smiled into that little hollow beneath Draco's ear, as he held him close.

3 Months Before the War

"I must have missed something. There must be something we haven't thought of," Harry muttered as he paced back and forth in front of the common room fire.

"And I tell you: you've done it all," Draco said. " Besides," he pleaded, " you're going to wear yourself out with all that pacing and it's making me anxious. You're going to kill yourself while _planning_ the Dark Lord's downfall. Where will all your friends be then, hmm?" he continued trying to impress this on Harry, who had barely paused in his pacing to listen, " Confused and lost, totally leaderless, and don't expect me to take over: I'll have my hands full with secret funeral arrangements, not to mention working my way into the Dark Lord's graces. No, all in all, I think it's better if you just sit down and I'll try my best to make you forget all about it."

"But we haven't solved anything," Harry argued.

"And you're not going to solve all the world's problems over night. Not that I don't appreciate your trying: it's a pretty messed up world we live in. But your just going in circles, and plotting revenge doesn't keep anyone warm at night, and by anyone I mean me."

" I really need to do something and soon. Everyone's counting on me and I feel like I'll never be enough. I'll never be the idol they place on a pedastal. I don't want to be responsible for whether our world lives or dies, but I am."

"You have to save the world before bedtime. You have to carry the weight of the world on your shoulders. And I'm here solely for a good laugh. I see how it is."

Harry moved toward Draco and caressed his face with the back of his hand, " You're here because you remind me that there is still good in the world. You remind that there are some people I don't want to die. Without you, I wouldn't even try."

"Well, seeing as I'm you inspiration and I want to sleep. Damn it, we are going to." He literally dragged Harry into his lap.

Harry laughed, "Better now?"

"Much. Now that I can have my wicked way with you," he yawned.

"Well you can't, not now; I just thought of something."

"Oh Merlin, here we go again." Draco dropped his head into his hands.

2 Months Before the War-

They sat in companionable silence as the clock ticked in the dust-covered library. The only other sound was that of the turning of pages. The dusty tomes were stacked around each boy and covered the table. The walls of books seemed like fortresses built to protect those within or, maybe, to keep something out. Parchment littered the area like butterflies, alighting on every available surface. The notes they would scribble down, every now and then, shone with the silvery sheen of wet ink. The thump of a volume being closed, perhaps a little rougher than necessary, evoked a "Shhh" from Madam Pince, who looked suspiciously at the leaning towers of books that seemed to be teetering in perpetual danger of falling to the floor.

Finally Draco growled in frustration and grabbed fistfuls of his own hair as if he was going to pull it out. Harry looked up and stared at him across the table through the least obstructed part. Draco saw the look and answered, "We're never going to find anything. You know that, right?"

"We will; we just have to keep looking," Harry replied, but it sounded like even he didn't believe it anymore and was just repeating it as something learned by rote.

"It's not in any of these books; we've searched them."

"Maybe we missed something." And he began to frantically flip through every book he could reach.

"Give up. It's not here. Read my lips: Voldemort is not going leave the method of his destruction in the school library. It's just not going to happen. There's not like there's a nice, neat little list of Horcruxes and locations complete with maps and directions. You'd have to be totally naïve to honestly believe that." Harry looked up hurt. "Oh, Harry…I didn't…I was just…I just exploded…." Harry just stared at him in shock. Draco waited out the silence apprehensive.

"I am not naïve." Draco almost laughed.

"Yes, you are." It just burst out of him.

"We have to do something. Isn't this wild goose chase better than nothing? I'm not all knowing. I just stumble my way through things. I don't know what to do, where to look, but I know that just sitting here, waiting for the inevitable, would drive me nuts. I'm not going to be lucky forever; one day I'm going to die. And I don't want to die knowing I did nothing to stop my own destruction, that I did nothing to stop everything I love from being destroyed. I can't lie awake at night, just waiting for him to come. And this is the only way I know how to cope. So lay off!" He ended screaming, but he looked as though he was about to cry.

Draco looked around for Madam Pince, but it appeared she was on her lunch break. He took a deep breath and spoke softly but with an edge to his voice, "Do you want me to lie to you: to follow along in you little illusion with everybody else? Don't you think I know what you're going through? What the stakes are? I know better than hopefully you'll ever have to. Trust we when I say we're in this together. But can we try something different? Beating your head against the wall hasn't worked. So, let's start looking for another way in."

Harry nodded, almost cringing. He understood though that this was the most open Draco had ever been with him. If he yelled now, Draco would never open up to him again, but keep sealed away. "Ok," he whispered.

Draco took his hand across the table, tracing the lines on the palm, running his fingers along Harry's fingers. "I'm here for you. If you need me…I'm here to help."

Harry closed his hand around Draco's. "I will always need you."

"Then I will be here forever."

Harry chuckled, squeezing tighter. "I'll hold you to that promise. I'll need you to watch my back before this war is through, if I'm going to live."

"And I'll be there, you can count on it." And Draco leaned in for a kiss, trying to reassure Harry of his loyalty. He would be there to the death, if it came to that. He didn't want to think about it, but he knew in his heart that he would.

1 Month Before the War

They sat in the Great Hall, mulling over a lunch of grilled cheese and hot tomato soup. They had maps of the wizarding world spread out on the table. Pins were tacked into parts, and there were circles of red marker around others. It was little disorganized and haphazard at best. But what had anyone expected? They were a bunch of teenagers, not a combat corps. But they tried. You had to hand it to them; they tried.

The conversation was full of energy and the unusual ideas of so many imaginative children working together. But, in spite of everything, this was their six weekly meeting and nothing had changed. They were still just as hopeful and just as in the dark. That one fact seemed to lie unspoken among them and so they overcompensated. After six weeks, they had no leads and no information.

The War Arrives

They were playing on the Quidditch pitch, taking advantage of the chance to set alight their old rivalry and forget the cares of the world for an hour or so. The wind was blowing through the trees, a hint of North's fury mixed with the freshness of spring. The pitch was green, but muddy, as it often is when the frost melts.

They flew back and forth, showing off for no one but each other. They were barefoot and wind tousled and happy just to be alive. Spring can do that to a person. The sun was warm through the chill and shining with a pale light that just defines the ethereal spring.

The game they were playing was as old as time and it's not the one they would have assumed. They're playing at love. They come so close in those hours to making it work, to winning. But opportunity fades quickly and fate often comes barging in. Destiny is not an easy thing to escape.

Neville ran onto the field, tripping over himself to get there as fast as he possibly can. He nearly falls, but he kept moving through sheer force of will. They halted their game to watch his faltering, awkward progress across the lawn.

He finally arrived carrying a scrap of paper that was now muddy and crumpled. They hovered a few feet off the ground, waiting to hear what such a hurry was about. If it was an urgent message from Hermione about a radical S.P E.W. protest again, they would curse him without a second thought. Neville took a breath. "Death Eaters…declared war…this morning…official… this is it."

"Wait, slow down. What's happened?" Harry asked, suddenly concerned. Neville thrust the paper into his hand. Harry began to scan the lines, his eyes widening as he did so. Draco read over his shoulder and his features arranged themselves into his customary mask.

"This is it then?" Harry asked Neville.

"Yes. We're at war."

1 Month into the War

Draco threw a spell at Harry after dodging a particularly nasty curse. It hit Harry full in the chest and lifted him off his feet. On second thought, maybe he shouldn't have funneled so much of his anger into retaliation. His lack of control around Harry would be the death of him.

Draco rushed over and dropped to his side. "Are you alright?" Harry just stared at him. And then very slowly…

"It's a good thing you're not trying to kill me any more. That time you might've succeeded."

"But are you okay?" asked Draco. Now he was concerned that he'd broken bones.

"I think you bruised a couple of ribs, but I should be okay as soon as I can breathe again." Draco lifted Harry's head into his lap, helping him to sit up a little. They sat like that for a while, recovering, taking things one breath at a time.

"So, I guess maybe I shouldn't practice with you. If I break you, we can't really replace you."

"Don't you dare. You are going to stay here with me. You're the only part of my day that's bearable. I'm not giving up a single moment with you, let alone a couple of hours." Harry lifted his arms over his head and wrapped them around Draco's waist.

"Fine, I won't. But it's not a good idea. Consider this rationally…"

"I don't want to! I'm through with being rational! If I had been rational, I wouldn't have you!"

"And we still don't know if that's a good thing." Harry got up; his face showed all his hurt. And he walked out of the room. Draco sat there for a moment in the dusty sunlight then ran to catch up.

6 Months into the War

The sound of their arguing echoed throughout the empty rooms of Grimmauld Place. Everyone else was out, busy with their own affairs. Harry shoved Draco into a guest bedroom, not wanting someone to return and overhear them. He slammed the door and faced Draco. "Stop it. Listen to me. Your father is a bastard, has always been a bastard, and will continue to be a bastard for as long as he lives. Nothing you say will change the fact that he is a sadistic, prejudiced SOB."

"You think I don't know that?" Draco spat back, "Do you think I go around with my eyes freaking covered like you and your Wonder Trio? You don't know anything! You scrape by through dumb luck and because people look out for you. Do you think I have that? We're not all so lucky. Nobody has my back, unless it's to stick a knife between my ribs. You can't possibly claim to understand my life; it's always been so black and white for you."

"You're really one to be giving advice on reality. Your friends and family follow a madman and his delusions of domination. They take his flawed teachings as gospel and fulfill his every homicidal whim."

Draco slammed him back against the door. "It's time you learned that not everything is nice. The world is a cruel, cruel place. Let me introduce you to it." He kept Harry pressed against the door, pinning him with his body weight, viciously twisting a hand in his hair to hold his head in place. "Do you remember when I told you that you didn't want know what you were offering? It's time you learn."

Draco leaned in captured his lips in a crushing kiss that caused Harry's head to bang against the door. Harry felt a flash of dull pain as his brain sloshed against his skull. This kiss was all about dominance. There was no gentleness, no affection, only possession. He kept one hand on Harry's hip, bruising it with his grip. He was surprised when Harry pushed back, returning his brutal kiss and arching towards Draco's touch.

Draco recovered and pulled Harry's head back, a firm "no" evident in the movement. He began to nip at Harry's neck and collarbone, creating just a hint of redness. Harry moaned and Draco took it one step further. He sucked the skin of Harry's shoulder into his mouth and rolled his tongue on the flesh. He knew he was applying enough pressure to bruise, but he didn't care. He then closed his mouth down, intent on marking what was his.

When he finally pulled back with the taste of Harry's skin in his mouth, the shoulder had changed to a dark blue-purple with red lines running through marking his veins. Now it was Harry's move. Harry leaned forward and bit his lip, pulling steadily. The lip split and blood flowed onto his chin. Unconcerned, Harry licked the blood off, loving the taste of metal and salt. Blood that was so precious should not be wasted.

Draco moaned at the dull ache of his now swollen lip. He didn't like pain that burned, sharp pain. The kind of hurt you felt when you pushed on a bruise was different; it was a soreness that was just this side of pleasure. And he loved it. It sent tingles down his spine and electricity through his body.

Harry took the opportunity and pushed Draco back towards the bed. They fell back and stared at each other, testing for strengths and weaknesses. Harry began to unbutton his shirt, revealing Draco's porcelain chest. He looked so much like marble that Harry half expected his skin to be hard. It was cool and pliable, he found. He placed his hands on either side of Draco's rib cage and slid them down to his stomach. He could feel his breathing and on a whim, put his head down against it.

After a few seconds Draco grew impatient and reversed the position. He ghosted his hands down Harry's arms, delighting in the shiver he received in response. He pulled Harry's t-shirt over his head roughly, tugging impatiently. And it isn't long before they're both naked and writing on the bed, aching to love and to be loved in return. All control has been stripped away, and they aren't sure who won the fight for dominance, and they don't care.

The Final Battle

Everything was confusion. The Hogwarts' grounds were covered in smoke and beams of light from curses that flew through the dark clouds to hit man and stone in explosions of colored fire and vivid sparks. Aurors and Death Eaters spun and dueled covered in sweat and the blood of fallen enemies and comrades. It was hard to know which side was which; they were so covered in grime.

Draco ducked the spells and dodged the fighters, trying desperately to stay alive. He saw everything in breaths. Time had slowed down to match the pounding of his heart. He saw things more out of the corners of his eyes. He saw Lucius fall along with Narcisssa. His brain didn't really register what that meant; it was too hyped up on adrenaline. His brain was taking photographs, but he didn't really see them. And in that moment he saw Harry kill the Dark Lord. That was when he was hit with a stupefy and passed out.

When Draco opened his eyes on the train they were wet with tears. Yes, everything had fallen apart. They had been in a constant down ward spiral, but maybe that wasn't their fault. Maybe it was because of the war. And as much as he hated himself for thinking it, maybe it was worth another try.

I smile and run out to meet you when I see you coming over that horizon.


End file.
